


In Love and Madness

by karrenia_rune



Category: Addams Family (TV 1964)
Genre: Conspiracies, F/M, Pre-Series, Small Fandom Big Bang, whirlwind honeymoons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-14
Updated: 2013-04-14
Packaged: 2017-12-08 07:38:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/758802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karrenia_rune/pseuds/karrenia_rune
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A whirl-wind honey-moon for Morticia and Gomez is not even remotely ordinary, but when has anything in their lives ever fallen into that category? However, while in Paris looking up a distant relative they learn that a man with a sinister agenda is just the tip of a proverbial ice-berg of a conspiracy against them and those like them. Soon, they are embroiled a series of dangerous misadventures.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Love and Madness

**Author's Note:**

> Much thanks and appreciation go out to the equally fantastic artists who created art to accompany my story,  
> pereltwo for the banner and celosia for the lovely line drawing of the main pairing: Which can be found on LJ here: http://celosia-writes.livejournal.com/1103.html

Disclaimer: The Addams Family belongs to the WB, its television producers and creators, as do the characters that appear here or are mentioned; they are not mine, with the exception of Hugo, the Archer and few other OC’s. The story was written for the 2012-2013 Small Fandoms Big Bang Round 2.  
The fantastic wallpaper was created by perletwo! [](http://s34.photobucket.com/user/per1etwo/media/addams-lovemadness1.jpg.html) Paris, late spring

She wore a long gauzy, almost all black chiffon gown that had been layered into panels, but if one looked closely enough there were subtle shades of gray amidst all of that inky blackness. Her lips had been painted the color of dried blood that matched the shade on her finger-nails. 

Overall, Morticia was satisfied that total effect gave off the aura and a kind of pale, tragic but elegant mystique.

Her husband a black tuxedo with tails and a burgundy silk tie with a diamond pattern. Nevertheless, she did have to admit it was rather unorthodox, and she liked the unusual very much. However, one could have argued that the unusual and the macabre often lived in the same house, and truth, like beauty was often in the eye of the beholder.

He was a newlywed and the woman he had believed to be entirely out of his league had agreed to marry him. Now, here they were embarking on only the first of many adventures as man and wife. 

Gomez felt the pressure of her hand on his and offered her one of his trade-marked million-wattage smiles, which she returned with a smile of her own and a quick kiss on his lips.

Sometimes she wished that Gomez was not so keen on being spontaneous, or about taking the old Latin phrase “Carpe Diem” quite so literally.

It was not as if their extended European honeymoon would be the last thing either of them ever did before they died, and if anyone who knew anything about people like her, life was wonderful and death, while regrettable, was merely another step in the cycle. 

Morticia stood on the wide esplanade of the outdoor café, sipping her glass of red wine; one which she had been nursing for some time while she waited for Gomez. He had promised to meet her for a late dinner, and while she knew that being punctual was not one of his virtues, he had many others that more than made up for the lack of punctuality.

 

She set the glass down long enough to idly twist the platinum and diamond ring that she wore around her finger, and considered that she had meant every word of the vows she had uttered at their wedding, that she would take him in love and madness, no matter what, but as much as she loved him, Gomez Addams did have a certain undeniable charm that off-set the occasional annoyances.

He rushed up to their table and more or less threw himself into the chair rather than actually sitting down, gasping until he got his breath back. His dark hair was tousled and his silk tie was askew, but the smile plastered on his handsome face was as wide as ever. 

She had been waiting and while she had always prided herself on her icy calm demeanor, and her patience, and having never given to public displays of anger, she was becoming a bit disconcerted.

“Whatever is going on, dear?” she asked, as calmly and as reasonably as she could, but it was difficult.

"Cara Mia,” gushed Gomez. “I fear that I we have run into a bit of a spot. The necklace that I purchased earlier, well, there is some question as to.... Apparently it is considered hot goods. 

“That’s impossible. To think that a jewelry store in Paris would stoop so low as to resell something that was in any way illegal.” She sniffed delicately and placed her white-gloved hands over his, meaning to comfort him and imply a measure of solidarity. 

“I suppose it takes all kinds these days,” mused Gomez. The thing of it is, for our immediate concerns, is that the authorities claim that I stole it.. Which is unmitigated absurd to the point of comedy.”

“Assuredly,” she replied. “Surely, it must be a case of a failure to communicate. If you wish, I can speak to them and we will soon have this sorted out.” 

“We will simply show them the receipt,” he replied.  
"Where is the necklace now?” she asked.

“I stashed it in a niche between Saint Thomas and Saint Ignatius, by Notre Dame Cathedral.”

For a moment, as the import of that simple statement sunk in, Morticia, felt the urge to let her carefully controlled poise slip, and the muscles around her mouth and lips ever so slowly curve into the rudiments of a smile. After a heartbeat or two, the smile on her face became a match for his. 

She reached across the table and took his hands in her own, “Now, there is one place that the gendarmes will never think to look for it. But, do suppose that if we are to continue to enjoy the remainder of our visit to the City of Lights, we must inform them of its whereabouts.”

“We, must, indeed,” he replied, blushing as scarlet as the ruby gem in his wedding ring.

In the distance, but close enough to be within ear-shot several male voices harsh with exertion shouted at them in French to halt and be questioned. With a visible effort Gomez forced himself to calm both his racing heart beat and his scattered thoughts. After all, this ado about the missing jewelry should not be allowed to spoil our honeymoon.”

“I could not agree more,” she replied icily.

Just on the heels of this sentiment, the authorities arrived at their table at the café, wind-blown and rumpled and out of sorts. In French they said, “Sir, we regret to inform you, that despite the merry chase that you have lead us, we have at last caught you up and we must take you into custody.”

Gomez spluttered, and in English exclaimed that this was all a big misunderstanding and if they would just calm down enough to allow him to explain.

Morticia stood up and before they could get a word out, began to speak to them in French and replied that they had the wrong party and that she was his wife, and that if they would allow the favor, they could take them to the location of the necklace in question. 

“Where is it?” the lead officer asked, his tone implying that he would brook no further delays in solving this particular case and that his patience, what little there was of it, was nearly at an end.

“At Notre Dame Cathedral,” Gomez said, this time in same language as the others.

“Very well,” the officer sighed, and reached up to adjust the fit of his helmet, both because it was perched atop his head at a determined downward angle and because at that precise moment he needed an outlet for his restless hands. “Take us to it; however, I feel it is my duty to inform you that Monsieur Gomez is still considered a suspect and that as his wife you will be considered an assceory to the theft.”

“Who has leveled these charges at my husband?” demanded Morticia.

“A Monsieur Le Brun, of Le Chevlair Jewelers.”

“Well, we shall soon put these matters right,” she declared.

“I do hope so, Madame,” replied Inspector LeBrun.

”For you sake, Inspector, I hope it will be sooner rather than later,” she replied.

The Inspector, a beefy, stalwart individual with broad shoulders and who sported a handle-bar mustache, seemed more than a little disconcerted by this declaration and blinked his eyes once or twice before he recovered his composure. Then he said, “Of course. Of course, then, come along, Mademoiselle, come along.”

Morticia shrugged and stood up from her table at the café, there was really nothing more to be done at this point, and it was hardly worth becoming piqued with this particular specimen of the gendarmes, and while she found his company rather unrewarding, he was, after all, just doing his job. She strode along just to the side of the Inspector and his uniformed subordinates, and exchanged a quick glance with Gomez, who offered her a reassuring nod and a squeeze of her hand.  
**

They small group exited the café all in a bunch, occasioning more than a few comments and eye-tracks from the tourists and locals that they passed on their way out.  
**  
When they arrived at the historic landmark, despite the nature of their present task, Gomez could not help but stare at the marvelous feat of inspired architecture and its carvings of religious saints and other figures and even more so at the lively carved faces of the gargoyles perching high above and all around the less animated faces of their neighbors. He stole a significant glance with his wife, who shared one out in return, and she reached over to squeeze his hand. 

“Well, we’re here. Where is it then?” the Inspector demanded.

”Just a moment,” Gomez replied. “He darted over to the niche where he had stashed then necklace and crouched down to take it out, careful not to break any of the diamonds or the chain on which they were strung. He finally got it out and straightened up, then with that task accomplished, turned around to face the gendarmes once more. “Here, but I must say, this seems a great deal of trouble, I also fail to see why Monsieur Le Brun would wish to accuse a customer of stealing when I paid for it. 

“You paid for it?” one of the other gendarmes questioned.

”Off course, and I have the receipt to prove it. In cash, I might add,” Gomez replied, as matter-of-factly as he could, but all the same he could not quite keep a wounded tone of injured dignity out of his voice.

High above, about two meters above the niche in question, there came a discernible rustling and grinding of stone on stone, as if something or someone up there were stirring out of a sound sleep, a sleep that had been unduly disturbed by the commotion going on below its perch.

“Then, just hand it over, and I’ll see what I can do about adequate recompense for your troubles, Mr. Addams,” replied Inspector Le Brun, who despite his present task, was a decent fellow and he had always believed himself a decent judge of character. He could not have said why exactly but he had a gut feeling that this man was telling the truth about his innocence in this matter.

Gomez did as requested, perhaps with more reluctance than he might have otherwise expected to have. It was a beautiful piece and it would have looked even more beautiful around his Cara Mia’s graceful neck, but there would be other necklaces and the money hardly mattered at this point.

The business of the purloined necklace dismissed and behind them, they decided to properly visit Notre Dame Cathedral with a special attention to the storied and famous gargoyles; the liveliness and variation in the features and postures appealing much more to their way of thinking than those of the stern and disapproving statues of the various saints.  
**  
With nightfall and the sun at its farthest remove, the rustlings from above sounded much livelier and much nearer than they had in the glare and commotion of day just passed. Trying to affect an nonchalance and that they had a purpose for loitering near the cathedral when both the services and tours had been over hours prior, Morticia and Gomez waited, and their wait was not in vain. 

Morticia, although having learned a very long time ago, to adopt a certain preternatural stillness, how to hold her head just so, full red lips pursed in a narrow red line, could not admit to a bit of apprehension.

She had not been at all angry or disappointed at the loss of the necklace that her new spouse had purchased and then learned that it had already been stolen. Perhaps he had even half-expected bitter words of recrimination or blame, but if that was the case, at the time she had felt something in her nature to do exactly the opposite, if for no other reason, because it felt like a good idea at the time.

As the night-time air of the city of canals picked up and ruffled the leaves on the trees lining the narrow streets, it traced subtle patterns through her raven black hair, Morticia considered the matter over and done with. 

What preoccupied her at this moment was whether or not the person that she had come to meet here would be waiting as he had promised. 

Soon, the sound of booted footsteps shuffled towards the near portal and a dimly shilloutted figure appeared, it peered through a slit in this side portal and with a whisper and crooked figure summoned to the door in question and then unlocked it just a crack or two, but enough to allow them to slip inside.

“Ah, this shadowy figured breathed, its voice sounding much akin to the sound rocks make when they are placed inside a rock tumbler, but aside from the harshness in its tones, there was also a subtle note of kindness and compassion. “It is good that you have come. Truth to tell I had all but given up hope that you would come.”

“And deny us the pleasure of looking up a distant relative,” Morticia replied, gliding towards the stooped figure who and gently but firmly took up his hand and darted a kiss as light as the petals of a butterfly on it, before she released it.

“Ah, lovely Morticia, one is reminded of our dearest ancestor, Esmeralda, you have her eyes, and her tresses of midnight black hair. 

“Gomez, allow me to introduce you Hugo. Hugo is my cousin on my father’s side, “

“A pleasure, indeed, to meet you,” replied Gomez with a bow. “

“I heard about that business with the necklace,” replied Hugo. “A misunderstanding all around, although even as venerable as I am, I am not yet moribund. I do get out and learn about what makes the world spin and why, but come on up to the bell chamber, and we will talk more, yes?”

“Of course,” Gomez replied, twining his elbow through that of his wife and they followed Hugo as he lead the way through a narrow corridor, then through a door into the main central area of the cathedral, past the rows of pews and then up a winding staircase to the bell-tower.

The chamber that Hugo ushered them into was wide and round with windows that faced out to each of the cardinal points, with the exception of the direction by which they had entered by. 

Each bell was made of bronze and showed signs of having been lovingly cared for; Hugo, as old as he claimed to be and he was old, was not the first of his line to have become caretaker of the bells and its workings; he was simply the latest in a long line as he had intimated. The most of his ancestors had once been documented in a book written by a French novelist. 

Hugo, although, normally a man of simple means and intent, nevertheless had a prideful streak, and every so often liked to boast about his lineage, and he liked an audience. Unfortunately for him, the only audience he was likely to get was the occasional flock of pigeons that roosted there, and the gargoyles. The pigeons were more of a nuisance than anything else, as for the latter, they made for a better audience, except they were often surly and critical. 

Hugo had heard, through the paranormal rumor mill, both within Paris and other cities that his distance cousin, Morticia had gotten married and would be spending a portion of their whirlwind honeymoon in City of Lights, thus, he had sent them a hand-written invitation to visit him while they were there.

Hugo busied himself for a moment with giving them a cursory explanation of their surroundings and they politely nodded and asked the occasional question, but it was obvious to everyone in the bell chamber that they were not there on a tour.

“Hugo, as delighted as am I to see a distant cousin, and one that as reclusive as you are reputed to be, has hardly made any of our family reunions in the past three hundred years,” said Morticia at last.

“Traveling is difficult for me, Cherie,” replied Hugo, otherwise I might have attended the last one, but if this is your way of asking why I invited you here, than I must say that it is not just ties of blood and kinship that made me do so.”

“What’s wrong, Hugo?” asked Gomez, sensing that there was something that the small man was working himself up to, and who simply required a nudge to push him all the way over.

“Yes, if there is anything within our power to help, rest assured that we will do so,” she added.

Hugo fidgeted for a moment, then looked up and locked his watery blue-eyed gaze with hers. “There is something troubling me.”

“Go on, dear heart,” encouraged Morticia.

“Well, well, it is like this and more than likely I shouldn’t say anything, but,” he paused for a moment and slide his index finger up against the bridge of his nose and slide it up and down as to relieve an itch or to intimate that the information that he was about to divulge were to be kept strictly confidential. When he spoke up again, it was in a hoarse whisper. “I have it on very good authority that some or someone’s are plotting to take members of our family, or at the very least those of us, who shall we say fall outside the purview of what’s considered ‘normal’ “

“Pshaw,” scoffed Gomez,” Don’t be absurd, old man? Who would wish to conspire against, or wish to see any harm done to us?”

“Gomez,” said Morticia quietly I know Hugo in ways that you could not, and if he says that we are in danger, than we cannot afford to dismiss it lightly.”

“Rest assured, I realize how this sounds,” Hugo replied “But, if you will just wait here a minute, I will bring you proof that way I have told you is true. I wish it were not,” he muttered over his shoulder as went to eastern side of the bell chamber and knelt down in a wooden chest in which lay his tools and sundry other items. 

Hugo rummaged around for a few moments before emerging with an envelope embossed with an intricate wax seal and trotted over to where they stood by the westward-facing windows.

“Here, you can read for yourselves,” Hugo said, handing it first to Morticia, who read it, and then with pursed lips handed it over to Gomez. “It would seem that Hugo was not exaggerating, she commented.

“To whom it may concern, be it known that we of the Order of Light Bringers have tolerated the presence of the macabre and the outright strange and fringe groups among for far too long. These are the one who believe that they stand aloof and safe from any kind of repercussion. And while, such things are the stuff of legends, there must come a time when their kind must realize that there are repercussions for their actions. It is our duty, nay, our mandate to stop these undesirables among our society, once and for all.”

Gomez finished reading the brief but terse missive, and heaved a deep breath. “Well, I never heard of such tomfoolery in all my life, to think I have always thought the best of humanity until proven otherwise!”

“Hugo, how did this arrive?” Morticia asked.

“It was delivered in with the supplies I had formally requisition for general maintenance of the bells.”

“Then I should think that if this Order knows about you, your life could very well be in danger,” said Morticia.

“I have given that some consideration ever since I received it, and believe the thought has crossed my mind, but I have to the conclusion that in the grand scheme of things, and the games of powerful and or ambitious men, I am a very small fish in a very big pond.” Hugo said, and emphatically shook his head. 

“Be that as it may, old man,” state Gomez, “I still think that you should leave Paris, or find somewhere save to stay, perhaps the catacombs, or….” He trailed off, and made an expansive gesture with his hands towards the view of the city just outside the windows.

“No, no, and once more means, no,” Hugo replied emphatically. “Paris is my home. I could no more leave it then you could amputate an arm or stop breathing and claim that was a good way to live.”

“Amputees can live a good long time even though I have heard that the phantom pain, never quite leaves them altogether,” remarked Morticia, absently.

“Cara Mia,” he’s made his choice. “But what should we do now?”

“I’ve managed to trace the origin of the letter. It came from Venice,” Hugo said.

“Then, we must take ourselves to Venice!” Gomez exclaimed, and get to the bottom of this dastardly business!”

“I could not agree more,” whispered Morticia. “I have always wanted to see Venice, but be warned, that should you decided to take me out sight-seeing in a gondola, and should you happen to fall in…” she paused and folded her arms over her chest. “I shall be the last person to dive in after you.”

“I hereby, solemnly swear, that should you be the one to fall in, I shall do likewise.”

Her lips pursed in a small secret smile, and she allowed a grin to slip out, and the lines around her dark eyes crinkled with suppressed emotions, before she finally replied. . “Well, then, just so we understand each other.”

“I, madam, do not ‘fall in’. To the train station!” he cried.

 

**  
Venice Italy, present day

Even though it was mid-spring one could still feel the promise of rain in the air, the Venice was bustling with life and commerce and tourists. They could use the distraction of the crowds to move along the wide the narrow streets fronting the busy and choppy canals and other buildings as if they were carried along by the flow of a moving river of people. 

Gomez had made an off-hand joke about ordering a carafe of red wine after dinner to make up a wetness within for the wetness without.

Under other circumstances they might even have enjoyed the juxtaposition of the crumbling but still elegant ruins set alongside the modern additions; but as it was, both of them were feeling particularly pressed for time. 

From the moment they had stepped off from the train platform, Morticia could not entirely shake the impression that they were being watched. It was an irrational way to feel and she had dismissed it as nothing more than nerves. 

“The seal strikes me as something that would have been used by a military or quasi-military order,” remarked Morticia as they went out the front door of their hotel, ignoring the eye-tracks and muffled conversations of the other guests and even that of the man at the front counter.

“How so?” 

“For one thing, it is very old, perhaps even hundreds of years old. And for another it depicts a mounted horseman overlaid by crossed spears, over a shield with a cross.”

“Hmm, you may be onto something there,” Gomez murmured distractedly, his mind leaping ahead to their destination and what they might find there.

“There is a direct line of descent from the seals used in the ancient world, to those used in medieval and post-medieval Europe, and so to those used in legal contexts in the western world to the present day. Seals were historically most often impressed in sealing wax (often simply described as "wax"): in the Middle Ages, this generally comprised a compound of about two-thirds beeswax to one-third of some kind of resin, but in the post-medieval period the resin (and other ingredients) came to dominate.”

“I suggest that we begin our search at the The Biblioteca di San Barnaba was a library on Piazza San Marco, at the site of San Barnaba, near the Canale Grande.”  
***

The library building was originally a medieval or Renaissance church, and contained columns brought back as spoils of war from the sacking of Byzantium during the Fourth Crusade. It also contained stained glass windows with images of the knights of the Crusades, and mysterious Roman numerals. The church itself had been built over the site of a monastery run by early Christian monks, who had built the catacombs that lay under the city.

“And just how are we going to convince people to let us down into the catacombs?”

“Hmm,” Morticia murmured, “Let me handle that.”

Vicarro had been in his office finishing up the expense reports when he heard the bell that dangled above the lintel of the door clang and he dropped his pen and with a sigh levered his tall but skinny frame out of his desk chair, hurried out the door and into the main hall of the library. It was not so much the distraction as it was, having to inform whoever it was that had come in, that they must return during normal business hours. 

Just at that moment the head librarian arrived, a tall man with dark hair and watery blue eyes, who wore his glasses precariously perched across the bridge of his roman-nose and a gray-pin-striped suit. Pinned to the lapel was a name-tag that read Vincent Vicarro.

“My good man!” boomed Gomez upon seeing the arrival of this man, that judging by both his dress and the official-looking name-tag affixed to his lapel, and the security badge he wore around his neck, that this was indeed a representative of the library and museum. “We seek knowledge of a sort that can only be found within these walls. I realize that the night is now far advanced and it would be bit

Seeing that they were American, in heavily accented English, Vicarro informed them: “I am very sorry, but the library is now closed.”

Morticia glided forward and placed one slim delicate hand on Vincent’s arm and locked her dark-eyed gaze on his watery blue one; and if one did not know any better, one could sense a palpable discharge of energy in the manner of a snake locking gazes with her prey. 

“Come now, as my husband has told you now, we do realize what an imposition this is, but surely you can make an exception in our case, now can’t you?”

In a slow rather dazed way, Vincent replied, “Of course I can make an exception for you.” He shook his slowly from side to side and then stepped away from the contact. “Whatever was I thinking? Please, follow me and come into my office, anything I can get for you just name it.”

In a momentary exchange of glances when Vincent’s back had been turned to them and they did as he asked, “Lay it on a bit thick don’t you think?”

“I told you to let me do the talking,” she remarked nonchantly.

“I recall something to that effect, yes,” he replied.  
***

In Vincent’s office

“What can I do you for?” Coffee? Tea? Water?”

“I would love some, tea, black pekoe, if you have it,” Morticia replied.

“Water will be fine for me,” said Gomez.

Vincent went to a side table where a water dispenser sat, along with a hot plate and a box of tea; he busied himself with the task of filling a Styrofoam cup with boiling water, carrying it over to the hot plate, pouring the water into the tea kettle, and then adding a packet of black pekoe tea. 

“It will take a little way for the tea to be ready, in the meantime, why don’t you tell me what brings you here tonight,” Vincent began.

“My name is Gomez Addams, and this is my, Morticia, we’re newlyweds.”

“May I be the first to offer the both of you congratulations,” Vincent said with a smile. “But my guess is that isn’t why you came here.”

“No, it is not,” Gomez replied.

“It is complicated,” Morticia began, “perhaps it would be better to show you something before launching into the explanations.”

She pulled the letter and its wax seal out of her pocket and smoothed the creases in it with her long tapered fingers and then placing it flat down on the desk, scooted it over towards Vincent.

“I must say, I am intrigued, this business with the Order of the Light Bringers was very much believed to be nothing more than the stuff of legend,” remarked Vincent. “Although, in cataloging the folios, documents that came into the library’s possession at the turn of the 13th century, and the fact that King Phillip of France spent a great deal of funds to discredit the Templars and their descendants, there was a rumor circulating that a rogue order went underground, in attempt to be fully suppressed.”

“A rogue order?” Gomez murmured. “of Templars? I bet old Phil would have loved that, it would give him an excuse that he’d been looking for years.”

“Be that as it may, for hundreds of years that was all it came to, just a rumor and a buried allegation in the texts and accounts kept by the monks of various abbeys scattered throughout Europe,” Vincent added.

“I realize that we have already imposed ourselves on you and taken up a good deal of your time, and how odd this next request will sound,” Morticia said. “But we will need to search the catacombs.”

“Whatever for?” exclaimed Vincent.

“I do not know for certain,” Morticia whispered. “It is merely a very strong premonition.”

“Does she get like this often?” Vincent asked Gomez “I honestly don’t know, but I have learned since we met, that I must learn to trust her instincts.”

“I realize how strange this may sound, but we will require access to the catacombs.”

“Why?”

“What we seek might very well be buried down there,” said Morticia.

“I cannot speak to that, since as far as I’ve been able to determine the only things buried down there are the remains of various saints and the relatives of formerly powerful pontifical families and assorted Knights Templar; although there might very well be something that was forgotten to the dust of centuries,” Vincent remarked, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his desk with his fingers intertwined.

“We appreciate the vote of confidence, Mr. Vicarro, especially given such scanty evidence to back up our assertions,” said Gomez.

“I must say that you have gotten me quite intrigued,” Vincent said and then bent down to lift a lantern with an unlit wick from a shelf, and then pausing a moment to set on a relatively clear space on his cluttered desk, before removing a lighter from his vest pocket, opened the wire cage and lit the lantern. “Here, you might need this.” 

“Thank you,” Morticia said, accept the offered lantern and the lighter, with a cordial bow and a dusting of her lips on his outstretched hand.

Vincent blushed and swallowed, and then said. “I wish the both of you, the best of luck. I hope you find whatever it is that you’re looking for down there.”  
**

They shoved aside the wooden portal that concealed the steps leading down into the catacombs, dislodging centuries of dust, grime and loose scree, using the lantern they had been given to probe into the darkness as they went. The ceiling had been shored up with wooden beams and the light from the lantern cast wavering shadows all along the spiraling staircase.

Sooner than either of them had expected the stairwell came to an end and stepped away from its lowest step and a short corridor lit by a pair of burning torches in sconces high up on either side of the wall, no doubt left there by Vincent or someone else in the employ of the library in order to provide light for general upkeep of the place. Whatever the case may have been, by unspoken agreement chose to stay with the lantern.

They crept down the hall way, choosing to take the left-hand turns whenever presented with a choice between left and right, figuring that they could always retrace their steps should it prove that they had made a bad choice, and take the right-hand branching tunnels.

They made their way to the tomb about a third of the way into the ancient catacombs, and while the occupant had once been a prince, his glory was long since only the province of historians, but that was not what they sought. Morticia glided forward and placed her hand on the base of marble block, probing with her slender fingers for the niche, while Gomez stood behind her, so that the light from their lantern was behind her. 

For a moment or two, she could almost believe that perhaps they had been mistaken, or miscounted the twist and turns in their wandering, that the niche and its contents would not be there, or perhaps the threats given to both Hugo and themselves, were simply meant to frighten them away, but from what and from whom? She knew that Gomez was passionate and optimistic, perhaps to the point of folly, and yet she loved him, loved his impulsive nature, so at odds with her studied calm and elegant demeanor; and yet they made a formidable team.

Even as she flashed him a smile, which he returned with a passionate kiss on her lips, calling her ‘Mon Cherie,” as he did so.

Ever since their arrival in Venice, nothing untoward had occurred to make them wary, or that their lives might be in danger, soon her probing fingers felt something give, and a panel slide aside with a sound like a knife ripping through silk. 

A scuffling and the sound of something heavy crashing with an echoing metallic crash to the smooth if extremely dusty floor, making leap into the air a good foot or two, and exclaim, “Zounds!” What now?”

Lurking in the shadows a figure crouched down behind a figure moved, one that did not have the appearance of any of the carved statues, bas-relief and coats of arms of the tomb and its accoutrements.

“Who’s there?” Gomez cried out.

“I was about to ask you the same thing,” a deep voice called out in response, emerging slowly into the light cast by the lantern.

“Why, look at you, Caliban Addams,”cried Gomez when the half-glimpsed shadow emerged into the light.

“Alas, is it not a sad world indeed, when folks such as these must hide themselves away in the dark, away from the lights of cities?” the tall, but stopped figure replied. “I do wonder, though, how you are faring in this brave new world, dear cousin, Gomez. “While my eyes may no longer be what they once more, these ears are still as keen as ever they were.”

Gomez stepped toward the tall, large-shouldered figure and embraced him. “If I had only known that you had relocated to Venice I would have invited you to our wedding! Why ever did not you send me a change of address notice? I thought you were still in England!”

“While my ancestor once could claim a luminous history as a tragic yet misunderstood character in one of the Immortal Bard’s plays, my family feel upon hard times and had to move,” replied Caliban. “But, enough of my troubles,” the large man sighed, turning to address Morticia where she stood holding onto Gomez’s elbow, and bowed deeply. “Feliciatones! 

“Gratize,” Morticia replied in Italian.

“Pleasantries aside, my guess is, that making a social call is not what brings you here this evening,” said Caliban is a much more sober and business-like tones.

“I am afraid not,” sighed Morticia. “If you have ended called these nether regions home, than perhaps this is an unlooked for boon, for so far the more we seek answers to our questions, the more we uncover more questions.”

“What is it that you seek?”

Gomez reached into to his pocket and withdrew the envelope with its stylized wax seal. “Something that will give us a lead to those who sent us these, so far, it would seem to be warning without much substance to it.”

“My cousin, Hugo, in Paris was the first to receive one of this missives, allegedly to the Order of the Light Bringers, who it seems have taken a decidedly deadly antipathy to our kind,” said Morticia acidly. “Although I cannot understand why. Why should anyone wish to deprive themselves of our company?”

Caliban nodded his head, slowly and close his heads, rocking rhythmically back and forth, resting his rather substantial weight from one foot to the other’ as if his ears took in her words, but also heard the distant music of the beat of far off drums that were only meant for him, when he opened his eyes once more, he said. “I understand, completely. 

In his mind’s eye, it was as if he was living through the circumstances of this exile to this damp and soggy country, the jeers and yells and torches of the mob and their angry, distorted faces as they drove him away from his beloved City of Lights. He had been forced to seek passage on the first ship that would take him aboard, and finally he found refuge of sorts here in the City of Canals, where he had lived ever since.

“Did you find anything?” asked Caliban when he had recovered from his reverie.

“Yes,” Morticia replied, showing each of the men a small leather-bound volume that she had found hidden inside the niche. “Do you recognize the seal?”

“It would seem that our friends in the Order have been here as well.” 

Gomez made it sound more of a question than a statement. Normally one to proceed with the vigor and confidence, and be dammed the consequences, and typically of the sort who flew by the seat of his pants, and made plans up on the fly; suddenly felt more than a little out of his depth, but was afraid of showing it.

“My Latin is rusty,” Moritcia said, as she opened the volume and flipped through the pages, the Order is indeed a rogue order as Vincent intimated, and its adherents passed on their dogma and from father to son, and so on down the line, in order to perpetuate their creed and to be certain that it would survive the turning of the centuries. 

“Charming, I’ve heard rumors that the detractors of the Templars went great lengths to discredit them, most of it utter nonsense, but perhaps there was some truth after all to the rumors,” Gomez mused. “

“It also says that, in essence this sect was dedicate to the eradication of the strange, paranormal, or unexplained, their motto was a variation of the dogma, fear and hysteria of the 1600’s in Salem that led to the witch burnings and other such perfidies,” Morticia remarked acerbically. “I knew relatives who died there.”

“There, there, Cara Mia,” Gomez attempted to sooth her, “It will be all right.” “Again, while it may not help us in any palpable way, I have heard it said that the worth of any secret is indirectly proportional to the number of people from whom it must be kept.”

“Then, aside from this entire venture from becoming a personal affront, these people would not wish to be exposed.” Morticia nodded and began to tap her manicured nails against the leather cover of the book, thinking what else they should be doing now that this proof of the Order’s enmity was in their possession.

Caliban nodded. “I concur.” And I must say that I have a premonition that you both should leave now.”

“Why?” Gomez asked.

“Because you would not want to get caught down here, when whoever it is that is after you, does catch up to you.”

“Stands to reason, good show, old bean!” Gomez exclaimed, giving Caliban an encouraging slap on the back.  
Morticia pursed her lips and arched her back, much in the manner of an angry cat, and then said, “He’s right, we haven’t much time.” Turning to Caliban, “by that logic, then, you should come with us.

Caliban shook his head, “No, No, I know these catacombs like I know the back of my hand. I’ll be fine, but you need to go now. I can feel someone approaching, and it the aura that clings to him makes all the hairs on the nape of my neck stand on end. Go, go now!”

“Thank you, for everything.”

“You’re welcome, but…”

“Yes, yes, we’re going,” Gomez hastily added. With that he shoved the leather-bound volume into his jacket pocket, and strode out of the tomb with Morticia following closely on his heels.

***

Meanwhile, concealed in the shadows was, and trailing along behind them for quite some time was a man with sandy brown shoulder-length hair, and a matching pencil-thin moustache that outlined his thin pursed lips, lurked. He’d been assigned to do nothing more to watch for a pair matching their description, and once he had managed to confirm their identities, to inform his superiors of their presence. 

He had marked their arrival at the railway station, followed them as unobtrusively as possible from there to their hotel, and then, much to his chagrin had lost their trail at one point, when they had almost literally gotten lost in the crowd. 

But he was highly skilled and trained, and with a mixture of diligence and the kind of stubbornness often attributed to junk yard bulldogs, soon picked up the trail once more.

This man, although he had had a name at one time, before having been recruited into the Order had once had a name, but he had long since forgotten it’ now he was simply called the Archer or the invisible death that strike from above. He had become very skilled at his job, honing his skills and his precision over the years in the manner of a precision craftsman would hone a sculpture or other work of art. 

He had been told to keep an out for this pair, to follow their movements, report back if they were getting too close for comfort to headquarters in Rome, or, and especially if they came into contact with anyone else on the Order’s very long list of undesirables’ his orders also specified that he was not to reveal himself to them if at all possible.

The Archer had his instructions and he would follow them, but even his vaunted patience was being tried by this pair, as he followed their meandering course through the streets and boulevards, both on foot and by moped. 

In the back of his mind, the Archer thought, “these two are no threat at all, but be that as it may, I never reneged on a contract I do not intend to start now.’

He checked the heft of his weapons, the quiver with its black-fletched arrows, the bow sheathed at his hip and the dagger concealed underneath his black leather jacket, and seemed satisfied with what he found. Assuring that all was in readiness the Archer slipped past the head librarian whose attention was absorbed in the books spread open on his desk, down into the stairwell that led to the catacombs. 

He moved quickly but not too quickly, not willing to take the chance that the noise would give away his presence.  
***

Morticia and Gomez stepped out into the relatively brightly lit outer chamber, the light from their lantern almost completely burnt out, however, fortunately for them the torches were still burning, if fitfully, and there was enough light to see by. The scuffling of booted feet on the stairs was their first indication that all was not as it should be, and they blinked a few times in order to adjust their eyes to the change in illumination.

A tall man emerged from the stairwell and blocked their only exit out, seemingly not all surprised to see them.

In heavily accented Italian he said: “Good evening, I must say that I had initially pegged the two of you into the category of’ hardly a threat,’ but you’ve surprised me a turn or two.”

“Who are you?” demanded Morticia.

“I am called the Archer.”

“Hmm, I am not impressed,” she replied.

The man who had identified himself as the Archer visibly bristled at her disdain, his ginger-colored mustache twitching with the effort to control his roiling emotions, and avoid saying or doing anything at this early juncture in this first face-to-face confrontation with his targets. He prided himself on his rigid control, but there was something about this woman that made that control difficult to maintain in her presence.

He dropped his left hand down to the pocket where his daggers had been concealed, and managed to regain his rigid control over both mind and body.  
The Archer was also very much aware that they were husband and wife, but that was rather insignificant at this point. 

“Be that as it may, the fact remains that you have led me a merry chase and I for one do not like to be balked in this manner. You wouldn’t be here unless you were looking for something.”

“I haven’t the foggiest,” said Gomez.

“Oh, don’t play coy with me, Mr. Addams,” replied the Archer. “Just hand it over, and we can all leave this place in relatively one piece.”

“Don’t trust him, Gomez!” exclaimed Morticia.

“I don’t, Cara Mia.”

The Archer heaved a sigh. “I see you are going to be stubborn about this, so you leave me no choice, but to kill you. I commend your souls, to whatever afterlife you believe in.”

With that he yanked his dagger out of its sheath and darted forward as swiftly as a striking cobra, covering the distance that had separated them in a matter of swiftly racing heartbeats.

Recovering a moment from the surprise of the attack Gomez looked around for something that he could use as a weapon with which to defend himself, and not finding one immediately to hand, raised the lantern and used it to block the blow aimed at his torso.

He figured that that initial instinctive block and parry had only bought a few precious seconds, and spared that time to watch his opponent with a wary eye. In the back of his mind, Gomez had to admit that it was a bit unsporting and even a bit dastardly of the Archer to fight with a dagger when his opponent did not have a comparable weapon to hand. It would be only the gentlemanly thing to do, as the one who offered the challenge to let me choose the weapon.’

The metal in each item met with a tinny metallic clang sound.

Morticia, not to be out done, scanned around the rocky tomb for something that she could use as a weapon. Hardly ever to be one that would fall into the category of god-help her, that most despicable of creatures, a damsel in distress, she would do what she could to help dispatch this person who would dare to threaten them.

She glanced up at the doorway with its armored-clad knights and her eye happened to fall upon the crossed swords that hung upon the wall, figuring that she could reach them if she stood on her tip-toes. Glancing around, she realized that their attacker was not paying the least bit of attention to her, glided over and tugged them loose from the brackets which held the swords to the wall.

With a good deal of tugging the swords at last came loose, along with their holders. She winced at the noise it made, but did not have much time to spare over such minor details. With the swords nestled in her arms like a child she quickly darted over where the two men were fighting. She shouted to distract the Archer, and tossed one of the swords to her husband, who deftly caught it, dropping the lantern in order to do so.

“Engarde!” Gomez cried. “Now we shall see what we shall see!”

“What the hell!” exclaimed the Archer.

“You sir, have no honor!” exclaimed Gomez.

“None at all,” echoed Morticia, holding the tip of her sword at the Archer’s back. “Leave and we will not harm you.”

“I never, ever break a contract,” the Archer replied.

“There’s always a first time.” Gomez shook his head. “I believe that he has a death-wish.”

The Archer closed his eyes, and sighed. “Do it, but make it quick.”

Morticia slipped the sword into his leather-clad back and watched as the man slumped to the stony floor, and then began to gasp and twitch, his hands closing and open spasmodically, until, finally he stopped moving completely.  
**  
“Is he dead?” Gomez asked as he bent down to search through the black-clad man’s clothing for any a clue that might tell why this man had come after them with such vindictiveness and unwavering fervor.

“What is that old saying? Ah yes, a good friend will help you kill someone….”she trailed off, meditatively tapping her finger on the hilt of her sword, the tip now smeared with the Archer’s blood, “But a true friend will also help you bury the body.”

Morticia bent down, uncaring of the dirt and dust and blood that spattered on the hem of her black dress. 

She rummaged through his pockets and withdrew what felt like a manila envelope. When she had it in her grip she tore open the seal, one much like the one that had been on the package that Hugo had given to them in Paris, and opened it. Inside was a sheaf of documents, with their passport pictures, descriptions, and a series of cryptic instructions in Italian, with a column of numbers in Roman numerals. On the left hand side of each page was a symbol of scales with an over-lapping sword and shield with an occluded sun shining on down on all of it.

“Curious,” Gomez remarked, when she turned the pages over for him to see.

“I wonder what such folk would want with us, “mused Gomez, “However, the question remains, is this man dead?”

“He is unconscious, but breathing” she stated, as she handed over the documents to him and bent down to pick up the man’s discarded weapons, turning them over and over in her hands. Until, finally, with the air of one who has made a decision and damn the consequences, hurled the dagger and the bow as far as away as she could until the landed with a clang among the ornaments and weapons and other sundry equipment of the tomb of the Knight Templar, where they had been confronted by the man who now lay bleeding at their feet.

“What if he should recover and decide to come after us again? Is it could idea to leave him his weapons?”

“I for one have had more than enough of this absurdity!” Morticia exclaimed. “If I say so, so it shall be.”

“Ah Cara Mia, such fierceness I have in a wife! I am truly a lucky man! It shall be as you say. Let us return home, forthwith!”

 

**

Conclusion

A week later, with the danger and the memories of their European vacation behind them, Morticia and Gomez returned home, and began to settle into their new life together, the leather-c lad volume containing secrets of the Order of Light Bringers, they had agreed would continue to remain a secret. On the way home they had paid a brief call to Hugo, to make certain that he was unharmed, and reassured on that score, continued on their way.

She had long since determined that her new husband was a man of expansive personality and effusive passions, and that was one of the very things that had drawn them together, in the manner of iron attracted to a lode-stone. 

Seeing the mansion for the first time, she knew that despite what her mother or even her estranged sister might have had to say about Gomez when she had announced her wedding banns; she had done rather well for herself. In the back of her mind, she could not help thinking, “Eat your heart out, Ophelia, dear.’

Gomez got out of the black stretch hearse and then strode over to the passenger side and opened the door for her, and gallantly offered his arm to help her out of the vehicle.

She stood up and twined her arm around his, and then walked up the gravel path to the metal gate, that instantly sprang open at their approach. They walked through the gate and up to the front door of the mansion. He offered her another in his arsenal of winning and charming smiles, and plucked a ring of keys out of his jacket pocket. Fumbling a bit in order to find the right one, he placed the keys back into his pocket, and then took her arm once more. 

“Welcome home.” 

“I should think that this will be the beginning of many of our adventures, together.” 

A tall man with a swallow complexion suddenly appeared in the doorway, “Welcome, home, Master Addams and Mrs. Addams. We’ve been expecting you for some time.”

“May I introduce, our butler and jack-of all trades, Mister Lurch,” said Gomez as he stepped across the threshold and into the interior of the mansion.

“I trust that you received my telegram, Lurch?” asked Gomez.

“Of course, all is in readiness, but it was a bit difficult obtaining the eye of newt on such short notice, but as the old saying goes, time and tide wait for no man. Are you certain you wish to proceed with the festivities, Sir?”

“As certain as I am that all of my limbs are intact!” exclaimed Gomez. “If you would be so good as retrieve our backs from the car, and bring them up, I would be most obliged.”

“Very good, Sir,” replied Lurch with a bow, that by an odd set of circumstance seemed to correspond with a resounding clang of a distant gong. 

“Perhaps the lady of would wish to retire to her bedchamber in order to freshen up after having been abroad for so long,” suggested Lurch.

“Excellent idea, Mister Lurch,” stated Morticia, and I can change into something more comfortable.”

“I think that is an excellent idea,” Gomez remarked, but it will have to wait until I dispose of that item which has caused us such vexation, of late. You know which one I am referring to, Cara Mia?”

“Of course, dearest Gomez,” replied Morticia. “My own suggestion is to burn it, but burying it again, so it will no longer give anyone else grieve, or fall once more into the hands of those who would seek to do us harm,” she sighed dramatically,” then, by all means, you have my approval.”

“Then, I will do so, and return to join at our long-delayed nuptial celebrations,” he declared, and with that he was off.

**  
Gomez went to the rear of the mansion, to the old grave-yard were generations of Addams and assorted relatives had been laid to rest, using a shovel, and heedless for the moment of the grit and dirt that accumulated on his suit, he began to shove at a piece of masonry that had been knocked loose from the action of wind and weather and the passage of time. Until, a depression in the hard-packed ground had been revealed, once that was done, he withdrew the leather-bound volume and threw it into the hole. He stood up and wiped his hands off, rubbing them together in such a way, as if to signify a job well done. 

He then shoved the block of masonry back over the hole and returned to the mansion’s front door and back inside.

“There will be no more interference from that quarter, or at least I hope so,” he muttered under his breath.

About an hour later, the celebration was in full swing.

The ballroom was a large octagonal room paneled in cherry-wood and its floor-to ceiling windows had been draped with heavy burgundy velvet. The chandelier with its glass electronic candles cast diffusive shadows over everything, and yet, there was an undeniable festive air to the entire gathering. 

Perched at a determined slant on the trestle table with its heaping platters of food-stuffs, was an old-fashioned phonograph.

When Morticia came down, having changed into a black velvet dress with slits and a low lace-embroidered collar, her descent down the spiral-staircase was accompanied by the sultry and familiar and ever so irresistible strands of the tango. 

“Ah Cara Mia,” said Gomez with a grand sweeping flourish of his arm. “May I have this dance?”

She smiled, and this was one that would not have been out of place on the proverbial cat that ate the canary. “How could I refuse?” she asked, but she meant it as a rhetorical question.

She held her head back and rested her right hand on the man's lower hip. 

With the music of the tango and the surge of blood in her veins, and the fact that she could never resist dancing the tango, especially with this particular man as her partner, she glided into his arms, and they began to spin and twirl and stamp to the rhythm of the music.

It was electric, it was as if suddenly, the concerns, the eyes of the guests while they were they were being watched, all of that would fall away in the very moment that they each heard the music, not with their ears but with their hearts. 

The music had become another point of connection to her partner. It was as they had, in that instant become sensitive to each of the instruments that make the beautiful tango song. 

He held her in the crook of his arm, and it felt as if they were a matched pair, counting out the steps in her mind, while she kept a running count as she step-walked with him out into the center of the dance floor.

Gomez firmly but carefully held her in this position while leading her around the floor in a curving pattern, adjusting both the speed and placement of their feet accordingly as the music rose and dipped like the swelling of the tide in the ocean, or the beating of their hearts.

In tango, the steps are typically more gliding, but can vary widely in timing, speed, and character, and follow no single specific rhythm. 

This allowed them to experiment and improvise as the dance went on, and sooner than expected it was they all but burned up the dance floor as it went on and on, and it suddenly felt as if they could never stop, matching their mood. But sooner or later this moment would come to an end, and the dance would be over, but for the moment, for this moment out of step with the rest of the world, they would make it last as long as they could.

Breathing a bit heavily, once they had released each other, both with exertion and passion, Morticia regarded Gomez for a moment. Soon, she realized that they once more had their limbs entwined around each other, and their lips meet and soon she was kissing him, and a heart-beat or two later, he returned the kiss as eagerly as she had given it. They stood locked together like that for a good long time. After, that there were aware of nothing else but each other, and the guests, were clapping and cheering, but the two of them were oblivious to all of it.


End file.
